


I Would Dye For You

by washmylove



Series: A Simple Kind of Life [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hair Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/washmylove/pseuds/washmylove
Summary: Set in the (hopefully) near future, Hiromu is almost ready to return from injury, but he needs a little help putting together the final touches. Thank goodness Desperado is there.





	I Would Dye For You

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that writing some Despy/Hiromu fluff (see "Polished" from the same now series oh man) was going to help me get all the niceness out of my brain so I could make some progress on a much more erotic version of the same pairing. Nope, the previous work just started a chain reaction fluffy Despy and Hiromu existing in domestic bliss. Whatever, we're here now, might as well enjoy it as much as I'm imagining they do!

Hiromu squinted at the fine print instructions at the base of the box, moving it closer, inches from his nose, _wait, no maybe further was better_ , now fully extended at arms length.

“Despy, have you seen my glasses?” Defeated, he called out from the kitchen with a sigh. He hated having to ask for help.

Desperado sauntered around the corner, hands on his broad hips, tongue clicking disapprovingly, “it’s tough getting old, isn’t it?”

Hiromu scoffed at the thought and snatched the glasses case out of his partner’s hand. “You would know, after all.”

Silence bloomed and filled the room, hanging heavy for a moment as Hiromu blew a burst of hot air onto each lens and rubbed them clean on the hem of his shirt before trying them on. _Still spotty_ , he tried again, a frown creeping on his face as he angled the thick black frames in the dim light, _was that a scratch? When did that happen?_

He glanced up into the silence to see Desperado gazing at him, arms folded gently across his chest, a sweet look of contentment across his face. “How can I help?”

“They didn’t have the kind I used before,” Hiromu offered glumly, gesturing to the box of bleach, “But I think this is pretty close to the same thing.”

“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Desperado countered, “Let me look at that before you make yourself prematurely bald in addition to blind.”

Hiromu tossed the box into Desperado’s waiting hands, and started to comb through his hair roughly with his fingers, the ends now a faded pink instead of the blood red he was known for. He reached a particularly nasty snarl and yanked, pulling out a clump. He reached for a pair of scissors.

“Woah woah! I thought you were touching up your dye job for your big comeback, not looking to revisit your Young Lion look!” Desperado exclaimed with equal parts concern and humor.

“Split ends, ya know,” Hiromu explained, holding up the straw textured ends of his mane to drive his point home. “You going to actually help or just remind me about the fashion faux pas of Past Hiromu? You know, when he was young, and virile, and in his prime, and not broken and worthless...” Hiromu’s protests were swallowed by a kiss from Desperado, soft and sweet.

Desperado’s hands cupped Hiromu’s cheeks as he kissed him out of desire to shut him up and remind him that this, today, is Prime Hiromu. It had been months since Hiromu’s injury; the storyline seeds were being planted for his big return. He was ready physically, although some days it seemed emotionally he still had a ways to recover.

It ate Desperado up every day that he wasn’t there when it happened. He saw it all live from an ocean away, his own personal horror movie playing out in real time. He knew it had gone wrong from the second he saw the spot, he’d jumped of the couch with a start and reached for his jacket, to go, where? He’d just wanted to rush to Hiromu’s side. But he couldn’t even figure out the international calling, and even if he did, who would take his call?

Instead he sat up alone in silent darkness waiting for a word, wondering if his lover would ever be able to feel his touch again.

He shook himself out of that gloomy thought, kissed Hiromu softly on the forehead to lighten the mood, “So concerned about fashion faux pas of the past, what exactly do you call this?” He gestured to Hiromu’s ensemble tonight that contained every neon shade of the rainbow and then some. Hiromu crossed his arms across the deep V of his shirt with a huff, averting Desperado’s gaze. “Yes, of course I’m going to help you,” Desperado countered sweetly, taking the scissors from Hiromu’s soft grip.

Desperado trimmed the loose, fried ends onto the kitchen floor, biting his lip with an intense focus, trying to keep the length equal from one side to another. “There!” He proclaimed with a flourish. Hiromu shook his head, spraying the last of the loose, trimmed pieces across the kitchen.

“It feels so light and healthy!” Hiromu exclaimed, running his fingers through his thick mane with a smile.

“Alright, now... to the sink?” Desperado ventured, glancing back at the box of bleach, “It looks like we’re supposed to put that in wet.” Hiromu shrugged and shuffled across the tiled floor of the kitchen.

Desperado turned on the faucet, checking the water temperature and dialing it in to perfection, not too hot, not too cold, before beckoning Hiromu to bend his head over the sink. Desperado poured handfuls of the warm water over the nape of Hiromu’s neck and saw the goose bumps prickle up in its wake, certainly not caused by the temperature of the water.

Desperado ran his fingers up the length of Hiromu’s scalp, caressing it from end to end before working some clean smelling shampoo in with more force. He rubbed his fingertips in tiny, firm circles, working up a multitude of bubbles with his massage. A moan escaped Hiromu’s lips.

As his fingers darted behind Hiromu’s ears and massaged down to the base of his neck he again remembered the months that went by where he had no access to these areas; delicate skin and broken bones caged by a supportive plastic collar. Desperado washed Hiromu’s hair then too, out of necessity. This felt different, luxurious even. Tonight he lathered well beyond the point of cleanliness and once all the suds were rinsed away, planted a chaste kiss to the naked area behind Hiromu’s left ear. Hiromu cocked his head to the side with his soft-lidded smile, looking so completely blissed out you’d think Desperado had been rubbing a different head for the last 15 minutes.

Desperado guided Hiromu back to the stool at the kitchen island, dry, fluffy piles of trimmed hair still at their feet. He ran a wide toothed comb through the last few knots and parted Hiromu’s hair down the center, just how he likes.

Desperado swatted Hiromu’s grabby hands away while he read the bleach packaging and stirred up the foul smelling concoction in a small dish. “Is it supposed to smell like rotten eggs?” He mused to Hiromu who just laughed and pinched his nose shut with a nod.

“Hey you need to wear gloves or you’ll burn yourself!” Hiromu exclaimed with a nasally voice.

Desperado snapped the thin latex glove at his wrist with a smile, “good looking out, Hiro.” From there he started to paint on the noxious paste to the bottom few inches of Hiromu’s thick locks. “No wonder your hair is totally fried,” he gestured to the piles on the floor, “This **cannot** be good for you.”

Hiromu snapped his jaw over his right shoulder like wanted to bite at Desperado.

“Hey! Hold still! Last thing I want to do is get this on your skin, oh man that WAS one of the good towels…” Desperado mourned. “Alright, there. Now don’t move for 15 minutes.” Hiromu was out of his seat before Desperado could double check the instructions on the box. “What are you doing? What are you even looking for?” Desperado gave up and went to set the stove timer.

By the time the buzzer sounded, Hiromu had undoubtedly ruined at least four other textiles in the apartment and had to be corralled back to the kitchen sink for a rinse. This time certainly was less sensual, more functional as Desperado took care to rinse the bleach only down the ends of Hiromu’s hair.

The red, pink, mauve, whatever you wanted to call it was now completely gone, the tips of Hiromu’s dark mane now shockingly white. _Well, I guess it worked,_ Desperado mused. He now grasped the jar of dark red dye, the final step to get his Time Bomb ticking again.

He worked it through the ends of Hiromu’s hair and spun the stool around to face him, “There!” he pronounced with a flourish.

Hiromu could barely stifle a laugh, looking at Desperado, sweat beading on his forehead, so proud of his evening’s cosmetology project. His bare hands stained “Valentine” red.

“Who would have thought,” Hiromu ventured with a wink, “I could catch you red handed without even going through your DMs...”

Desperado shut his smart mouth with a kiss.


End file.
